


alaskan sunsets

by Rupzydaisy



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alaska, Canon Compliant, Canon Typical Swearing, Canon Typical Violence, F/F, Post Series 2, Suspense, There's not much else I can say, Thriller, Unreliable Narrator, after Rome, in this house we watch things go wrong and gasp, it's all headed for disaster, or at least right up until the last few minutes of that series 2 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-01-13 18:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21201515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rupzydaisy/pseuds/Rupzydaisy
Summary: Villanelle and Eve leave Rome together and fly to Alaska, leaving both the Twelve and MI6 behind. But what started out as a respite from the mess Eve had barely managed to stumble away from, quickly turns into something far more dangerous.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This will not have a happy ending. But at least I've planned out (mostly) where it'll go.

Alaskan sunsets are a brief respite from the overwhelmingly inhospitable landscape. The oranges, reds, and pinks that cover the sky are the familiar colours of a warm fire. But like a desert mirage they tell a lie, and only foreshadow the cold, long night beginning to inch across the sky. 

.

Eve could see very little out of the cabin windows and it takes her too long to fumble with the front door. After what feels like an age, the handle rattles noisily in her hand and finally unlatches. She stumbles out onto the wooden porch and her feet slip on the refrozen ice. Then she yanks it shut after herself, hoping that she won't be followed. 

A minute. 

She tells herself that a minute was all she needed to get herself together and untangle all the lines that have been blurred. 

A minute to try and stop the pounding in her head, and the confusion that she’s choking on. 

Her eyes water and she grips onto the porch rail with thin fingers that gnarl up in the biting wind that’s picked up. The dark, wind-worn wood is cold to the touch and Eve digs her nails in and hunches over, trying to swallow a scream. 

A minute passes. 

Then another. 

And another. 

She freezes when she hears creaking wood behind her. 

_ No, don't come outside. Not now. _

Eve thinks it over and over. The creaking grows louder, when it draws away back into the silence she breathes out a sigh of relief. 

She lets the cold air bite at her throat and turns to make sense of where she has ended up. There is a thin layer of snow on the ground, although it's not enough to make finding the path hard. Between where she stands and the horizon, there's an almost flat landscape only broken by clusters of tall evergreens encircling the land the cabin was built on. The white blanket leeches out what little colour is left and rounds out the edges of the landscape to leave everything slightly misshapen, slightly warped. 

It was a desolate place. A beautiful, uninhabited wilderness. She can see the appeal of the contrast to London, Paris, to any city full of noise and people. 

The realisation brings her back to the question that has been bubbling at the back of her head for the last few hours. It had started off as a haze at some point on the plane, then grew to a simmer, and finally a full-on roiling boil that had her scrambling for the cabin’s front door. 

Eve slowly turns to look at the netted window. Inside the lights are on and throw a soft glow onto the porch. It's homely cabin porn that belongs on a calendar or in a kitsch book about _hygge_. Her dry lips crack open and in a raspy voice she voices that burning question, "What the fuck am I doing here?" 


	2. Spaghetti Dreams

Eve spends the next day sitting on the overstuffed sofa feeling horrifically jetlagged and watches Villanelle waltz around to make the cabin a more liveable space. The dust sheets come off furniture, and the countertops get given a wipe down. She even finds a mop in one of the cupboards in the kitchen and takes immense pleasure in boiling the kettle over and over again, all under Eve's glassy stare. 

"Hey, Eve, what do you think? Looks good now." 

"Nice, the toaster _does_ work!"

“Is it better here...or over here?” 

Every time Villanelle moves onto something new, she turns and smiles, and narrates as she goes but Eve only sees a blur and when she closes her eyes, she's thousands of miles away, with the weight of an axe in her hands. The feeling of it getting stuck in his shoulder kept repeating until it was in sync with her breaths and each time she breathed out she could feel herself ripping the metal out of the sinew in his shoulder. 

By the end of the afternoon the cabin is restored, and Villanelle flopped down on the sofa beside her and stretched her legs out.

"Now it looks like a holiday home." She declared it with a face splitting grin, expecting a response. 

Eve blinks, taking in a shuddering breath, suddenly coming back to herself. She is neither here nor there. Lost deep in her thoughts, it's like breaking water to reach the surface, cold and unpleasant. "What?" 

"Looks better now, right?" Villanelle asks again, "I even defrosted the freezer." 

Eve takes another look around, eyes scanning the open plan ground floor, and it was true, the cabin looked more homely now that the dust sheets had been removed and the fire had been lit. Villanelle had even found a rug stashed in one of the upstairs cupboards and dragged it down the stairs, kicking it out flat over the space between the sofas. But the whole place had the feel of a doll's house; sparse and functioning with a roof and running around water, yet everything was partially done, from the half-filled bookshelves with standard maps and a dated magazines, to the airing cupboard housing the two sets of towels and bedsheets bought yesterday. 

It wasn't lived in. It wasn't her home or Villanelle's Parisian bolt hole. It was as temporary as it had always been. 

"Yes."

"Good." Villanelle nestles closer to her, drawing her socked feet onto the sofa. "I think I’m going to make spaghetti for dinner." 

"Why?" Eve asks, thinking of one kind of red and seeing another behind her eyes. 

When Villanelle tips her head sideways to look at her, there’s only a faint flicker of annoyance. It vanishes almost immediately, but Eve’s almost sure she saw it, especially when the sarcasm leaks into the other woman’s voice. “Because you need to eat, silly."

Then her stomach gurgles loudly, seconding the idea, like the traitor it is. Her body and mind had never seemed so distant. She doesn't feel hungry. She doesn't feel much. There's a vague thought at the back of her head reminding her that she _should _eat, that she hadn't eaten on the plane and only drank the whiskey that Villanelle had given her, and then slept for so long. But the car drive from the airport had been long and her head had been fuzzy. When they had stopped in the closest town, she had felt too tired to get out of the car, or to eat from the bag of crisps Villanelle had chucked at her as she sped off through the Alaskan winding roads. 

Her stomach growled again, hunger and numbness mixing together, but the numbness couldn’t smother the hunger, and the hunger couldn’t do anything to feed or shift the numbness. 

"See." Villanelle tells her, and then slowly extracts herself from around Eve’s shoulders. "You rest, I'll sort it." 

So Eve lets her rattle around the kitchen, and after another hour or so, Villanelle declared that dinner was ready and shepherded Eve to the table she had set. The smells of caramelised onions and tomato sauce waft over. As she sits down, Eve runs her fingernail over the tablecloth, still creased from the folds it had been packaged with. A single candle was lit and they set down to the steaming plates. It was a deliberate touch, because as Villanelle sits down, she catches Eve's eye and winks. 

It makes her nervous, for no apparent reason. 

“Sometimes, I dream of spaghetti.” Villanelle confesses with a hungry grin, and Eve throws a weak one back. 

Her fork is poised over the spaghetti drenched in tomato sauce and garnished with a few fresh herbs. It looks very appetizing, smells delicious, and despite that her stomach still turns at the sight of it. It isn't helped by some sauce spilling over the edge of the plate and spreading across the white tablecloth. She reaches a finger out to swipe at it, wiping it away, and when the oil lingers on her finger and she grimaces and wipes harder until there's no greasy residue left. 

"Don't you like pasta? I made it specially for you." 

Her eager eyes are bright, and it was just the thing Eve had been searching for, for months. A hint of the woman who had led her on a merry chase. The strange flicker in the corner of her eye, the weaver of a complex and twisted pattern only Eve knew how to untangle. It had felt like a challenge to break herself against, each almost-near capture where she had been just a few steps behind had left her breathless and it had only stoked her further, even to the point she had laid a trap and set herself as the bait. It was the same kind of madness that was sitting opposite her, because that was what Villanelle had done each time she knew she was being watched. 

"No, I do. It looks nice." Eve smiles wanly, and it doesn't stick for longer than a few seconds. 

As self-centred as she was, Villanelle still leans forwards in concern. "So, aren't you hungry?"

"I am, I think." Eve picks up her fork and hesitantly twirls a bit of pasta around it. She chews laboriously and finally swallows under Villanelle's watchful eye, and then goes in for another forkful. 

With a nod of approval, Villanelle digs into her own plate, and the events of the last few days have no effect on her appetite, because she even goes back to the counter for another helping. When she raises the pot to offer it to Eve, she's quick to shake her head, “Oh, I’m good thanks. I think it...must be jet lag or something.” 

“You like, slept for the whole day!” Villanelle laughs loudly, and the sound echoes off all the flat, unfurnished spaces in the cabin. “Are you _still _tired?” 

“A bit.” Eve admits, pushing the chair back to stand. “It just...don’t feel like myself. I don’t know what to think about-” 

She trails off, feeling a weight in her palms and a weight at the base of her neck. It’s there, the full memory of what she had done, no matter how much she tries to keep it at bay. The horror of it threatens to claim her whole, a small fish in the face of a whale’s gaping maw. Her blood is chilled and her cheeks and forehead blaze. She feels at war with herself, thinking; _it was a necessity - it was needed - you didn’t want her to die - did you _want _him to die? - she had a gun - she could have used it - why didn’t she use it? - why why why why-_

But there was Villanelle, a step ahead as ever, at least in this. She’s not a person capable of sympathy, Eve knows it too well, anger and irritation are far more true emotions, but she’s almost kind as she speaks, softly, like a person would to a limping housecat, or a cornered child. “You get used to it.” 

XXX

After they've finished eating, Villanelle dumped the dirty dishes and saucepans in the sink, and then swings herself up to sit on the counter. Her bare feet kick lightly against the wooden cabinets underneath, and she’s lost in her own little world once she’s pulled a phone from her pocket. Eve leaned back and watched her tap away, the little vibrations humming in the air. A moment passes and then Villanelle sneaks a look at her from under her eyelashes. 

"This isn't for you, Eve. But, I will get you some new clothes too.” She pauses and gazes at the fridge whimsically. “If only we had run away to Paris. Now that would have been fun! We could have gone shopping down the Champs Elyse's. And fresh pastries-"

"I need to make a phone call." Eve blurted it out, eyes glued to the little luminescent mobile screen. 

"To _who_?" Villanelle lifts her head properly to look back at her again with narrowed eyes, completely confused at the demand. 

"To-" Eve begins, and then her thoughts stalled. 

If she made a call, _who would it be to? _Carolyn? Elena? Niko who wouldn't pick up? She’d have to explain everything about how she got to Alaska. _Everything._ The thought of having to explain what happened in Rome twirled around the spaghetti in her stomach.

But Villanelle takes her silence as proof. "You don't want to call anyone. That's why you came with me. I'll look after you." 

Eve stares at her, trying to connect the scattered dots as Villanelle continues on. "I think it's nice here. It's quiet. We can talk without anyone interrupting. Not even that _stupid _Raymond. God, he was a nightmare.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve got, what do they call it?- A secluded luxury cabin." Her smile is wide and inviting, fuelled by the want to be believed. 

"Secluded?" Eve asks, feeling a sinking in the pit of her stomach when she looks out of the window to the darkening sky. 

"No one for miles. The town is nearly an hour away. No one will come looking for us here. And there's going to be _bad _weather." Villanelle waves her phone in the air with unabashed glee. "There's a snowstorm soon. I’ve never seen one before. It’ll be like the movies! Oh, we should plan things, like hot chocolate...and snow angels!" 

She jumps off the counter, pockets the phone and begins to count things off on her fingers. “We’ll need chocolate, and warm blankets, and there’s a stocked woodshed. I saw it at the end of the driveway. They deliver it all at the beginning of the season.”

Eve lets her talk, making only little noises in agreement here and there, feeling as squashed up against the walls of the cabin as she had been on the plane. 

XXX

In the morning, Villanelle left armed with her shopping list. She drove off in the car, taking her phone with her, and Eve watched her go from the window. The car left tracks in the iced-up snow from where the road banked upwards before it hit the main path, and she can hear each wheel spin compact the ice and snow underneath with an ear-splitting crack.

As soon as she's gone, Eve snaps into action and makes her way through the cabin, searching carefully through each room for a phone line or something that would help her make sense of things. Heading upstairs to the small bedrooms, she does a quick search of the room she had slept in, with its empty cupboards and drawers. But there’s nothing to be found. The only things there are the things they’ve brought with them. There’s only one thing of note that she uncovers, and her hands shake as she finds the safe at the back of Villanelle’s wardrobe, and it was locked with a key that wasn’t left behind. 

She breaks off from her rummaging at lunch time, feeling ravenous, and her search turns to the kitchen cupboards downstairs. They’re sparsely filled too, with only the essentials that Villanelle had bought on their drive in. Eve heats up leftover spaghetti and finds some crackers too when the pasta isn't enough to fill her up. When she sits down at the table, she drips the spaghetti sauce onto the tablecloth, and without a second’s thought drops a crumpled tissue over it.

The afternoon passes in the same way as the previous day. Eve is luckless and restless. She tries the front door, suddenly caught in a worry that Villanelle locked it behind her, but it swings open with a heavy creak and a flood of cold air swept in. It brushed over her face and ruffled her hair. 

It didn’t bother her, feeling bone-cold just standing there, but then Villanelle had taken the only two things that could connect anyone to the outside world, the mobile and the car. That was a more chilling thought, if she wanted to dwell on it.

Instead, Eve feels a smidge of relief at being left alone. If Villanelle were there, she would be talking, or worse, watching her. 

She shuts the door after some time and moves to stand by at the window and watched as the snow begins to fall again, first as delicate flurries and then thick and fast, covering up the ground fully. Eve waits there until Villanelle returned in the mid-afternoon, laden down with more grocery bags. It takes her two trips to bring everything in, including the express deliveries of her online orders including bags of plastic wrapped clothes.

"Honey, I'm home!" Her excitement seems to peak further, even as the snow falls heavier. "It took nearly an hour to drive back, I had to go slow because of the ice. But...I have chocolate. The good stuff."

Eve draws in a deep breath, trying to match the level of enthusiasm spilling out from the blonde, and asks, "Really?" 

"I got salted caramel and also an orange one I think you'll like. You seem like a woman with _sophisticated_ taste"

Eve smiles at that, the joke creeping up on her until she can't stifle the giggle, glad that the monotony of the afternoon had been broken. "I like orange." 

Villanelle grins back, and then begins to tip out the bags on the living room floor to show what else she had bought her. There were jumpers and jeans, thick scarves and a heavy fur lined coat. Eve knelt down and sunk her hands into the soft, thick fur, revelling in the comfort it brought her. Then her thumb brushed past the cardboard tag and she noticed the price. 

"It’s a lot."

"I paid _so_ much to have them come quick, express delivery. Aren’t they good? We have enough to keep us going too, in our little hidey-hole." Villanelle replied easily, as she broke off a chunk of chocolate to eat and held the rest of the bar out for Eve. 

Outside the sun began to dip under the horizon. It was hidden behind the thickening grey clouds until the sky was tinged with red and orange smothered under the falling snow. Day slipped into night without fanfare and Eve only noticed the time as she lit the candles on the dining table as they sat down for dinner. 

It was so easy to forget, easier than she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm getting there...


	3. You'll Come Around

When Eve had woken up that morning, she had lain awake for too long with the oppressive silence laying over her like a second blanket. Then the floorboards creaked under her socked feet, and she wiped her sleeve against the thick stripe of condensation on the bottom of her window to find that the view outside was utterly magical. There was so much snow, more than she’d ever seen before in her life, _ever_. It glistened under the creeping rays of dawn and the sky slowly lightened to leave a pale blue stretched tight over them. 

For a moment, it had been so tempting to step out there, where no one else had been before. In the daylight, the rustling trees seemed more inviting. Everything seemed clean and fresh, it felt like a blank page.

When Eve breathed out, she felt so far from home and distanced from everything. There were no car horns blaring in the street or the usual city noises. She had completely stepped out of her London bubble of work and worrying about Niko, and the stark difference of it all made it feel everything had been put on pause, like a holiday. 

The only exception being, she was in Alaska, and every _real _holiday was an escape to the sun; always sand and always an endless supply of wine or sangria or cocktails, all by the pool. 

XXX

"Come on, there’s so much snow. Let's go outside!" Villanelle tugged on her arm, until her wild grin bubbled over her curved lips and her enthusiasm relentlessly clambers up past Eve’s walls until they crumble.

"It'll be fun!" When Villanelle drops her arm, it hits the hard side of the sofa with a thunk and a dull and throbbing pain swirls its way up her elbow. It was hard to ignore Villanelle when she was still talking. It was something in the way she spoke so confidently, it was unnerving. 

Villanelle stared down at her with a knowing look, with a self-assurance that seemed more like a tidal wave. “Oh, you’ll come around.” 

_Am I really that predictable? And is it a bad thing?_

Eve’s listlessness slid away as she allowed herself to get lifted up by her enthusiasm, and was finally pulled to her feet. "Fine. Fine. But I want _two _scarves." 

After all, she liked letting everything float away just for a week or two, even if it was on grey snow clouds above an endlessly landscape of snow. 

XXX

Eve’s new boots encased her feet and half her shins, so that when she stepped out, she couldn’t feel any of the chill from sinking into half a foot of snow. It crunches under her feet along the main path Villanelle had shovelled out earlier in the morning, as she tracks her way out towards the fresh, unblemished snow. Ahead of her, Villanelle drops her fur lined hood and yanks down on the ends of her gloves. 

Her blonde hair spilled out around her shoulders and there was a mischievous grin split across her face. “This is great!” 

Then she bends down to scoop up a palmful of snow and begins to shape it while puffing out white clouds of hot breath. Her cheeks were flushed red and Eve almost wanted to laugh at her for looking like a child, eyes wide with delight, telegraphing her every intention as she winds up her arm ready to throw the snowball. 

“Oh no, oh no.” Eve grabs the edges of her hood, hoping to keep in every shred of warmth that threatens to leak out into the cold air. “No way!”

“Yes way!” 

Villanelle tossed the first snowball with a loud shriek that collapses into a delighted laugh. It echoes off the snow while Eve backs off, taking one wobbly step after another. When Villanelle stalks forwards and bends again, she’s too slow in stepping away. It results in a snowball smacking into her chest and exploding in a spray of powder. The icy slivers catch in her hair and melt under the warmth of her skin, and she wrinkles her nose at the wet and the cold. 

This was nothing like sangria and clear blue Mediterranean skies. 

“Oh. No,” she repeats defiantly. “You’re so gonna pay for that.” 

On unsteady feet, Eve ducks down to scoop up snow herself, shaping it quickly into a compressed ball and hurling it through the air, but all Villanelle does is bark out a laugh and dodges it gracefully. They quickly hunker down after that, and she starts scooping snow in a mound at her feet to stockpile her ammunition. Moments later, snowballs flew through the air, some more compact than others. Most hit their mark, leaving Eve’s black coat peppered with splashes of white powder and Villanelle’s hair covered in snow. 

“Ow!” Eve screams as a hardened ball of ice hits her on her cheek. 

“I can kiss it better!” Villanelle yells back as she ran in a zigzag to avoid being pelted by Eve’s second volley of snowballs. 

Although she wasn’t quick enough and they hit their mark, two smash into her knee and she skid, landing on her back while laughing. Her breath fogged up in the cold air above her, like a plume of smoke rising. “I surrender! I surrender, Eve!” 

She edged closer, a snowball in each hand. “Do you? Really?” 

“I’ll sign anything you want me to.” Villanelle giggled breathlessly as Eve towered over her, feeling the weight of the larger snowball in her hand. Her light eyelashes flutter, and the snow flurries melt on her warm skin to sink into the exposed lining of her coat. 

Eve rolled her eyes and dropped the two fistfuls of snow, and a dangerous smile suddenly graced Villanelle’s face. It sent a jolt of alarm through her, and she tried to back away, but Villanelle was too quick. Swinging her leg to knock out both of Eve’s, it sent her tumbling into the powdery soft snow. In seconds Villanelle had pinned her to the ground, and although her coat protected her from the worst of the cold, her jeans were getting wet. When she flails and kicks out her leg, snow stuffs itself into her boot. 

“Gotcha.” Villanelle whispers, blonde hair hanging over her face like a curtain. 

Eve breathes out shakily, feeling absolutely winded. “You did.” 

When Villanelle dips her face closer, her breath warm against Eve’s skin. Her cheek prickles from the heat, burning from where Villanelle’s compacted snowball had hit her. “I know I did.” 

A thought occurs to her, and she blurts it out, “How long are we staying here?” 

Villanelle tips her head to the side, “As long as we like.” 

Eve shut her eyes, feeling her lungs burn more, feeling breathless and for a second, she’s back in Rome, staring down at Raymond feeling the same, cold fear. The numbness in her legs and arms turns heavier, and she has to force herself to suck in another icy breath and speak to break the bloody mirage in her head. 

“It’s cold.” 

Villanelle lowers her face closer to hers, cheek brushing against hers as she mumbles, “Yeah, let’s go inside. It’ll be warmer.” 

When she pushes herself off Eve to stand up, she feels the cold air sweep over her and quickly clambers up to her feet. Villanelle heads inside first, leaving her to brush off the snow from her legs and try to scoop out whatever hadn’t yet melted into her boots. Indoors, Villanelle quickly sheds off the sodden outer layers and headed in into the kitchen to pour milk into the saucepan, dropping chunks of orange chocolate into the pan to let them melt until it turned into a rich and thick hot chocolate. Eve leans on the back of the sofa to peel off her boots as the feeling returns to her fingers and toes. 

Villanelle’s cheeks had turned red as she warmed back up, and when she passed over a hot mug to Eve, her fingers brushed against hers lightly, lingering over the back of her hand. She frowns at the twitch in Eve’s fingers, and the creases around her mouth sink in deep, just for a split second. 

By the time Eve blinks, the irritated look has disappeared, and she tells herself it was a trick of the light to push away the feeling of being unnerved. 

“Come on, let’s watch a movie.” Villanelle says, like all was forgotten, and with an uncharacteristic show of compromise, she pulls Eve over to the sofa and knocks her down with her hip, making a show of selecting a video from the shelves opposite. 

“I’ll warn you now, I’ll fall asleep.” 

Eve cradles the hot chocolate in between her hands, sipping at the burning milk, she chooses an old video case, blows off the dust, and pops it into the VCR. When Villanelle curls up on the sofa beside her, her smile is a different kind of sharp. “Hmmm. I could think of something to keep you awake.” 

It flusters Eve more than she cares to admit, and she has to fight to keep her face straight. But she knows better than to leave a silence hanging between them, so she buys herself a few seconds to laugh wryly to herself and compose her face again. 

But Villanelle isn’t as easily deterred, and she scoots closer on the sofa to rest her head back on an overstuffed cushion with her eyes fixed on Eve. “I mean it.” 

There’s an invisible thread, pulsing, crackling, thin but fixed between them no matter how far Eve feels from it, it remains there. She thinks Villanelle might lean forward to kiss her, to pin her to the sofa like she had pinned her to the ground. The trace of her fingers on her face had burned straight through her skin in Paris, and now it felt like her skin was bubbling under the phantom memory of it. 

Or maybe she’d turn hard again, like ice that couldn’t be chipped or melted. 

The hairs on the back of Eve’s neck rose, but they both turn to face the TV when music crackles out of the old speakers. It swells louder and then the titles roll and Villanelle breathes out coolly. Eve leans back further into the sagging sofa and settles in beside her to watch the movie, and they both seem to pretend as if nothing had been said.

To maintain the balance, she doesn’t try to steal glances during the film, or say anything lighter than innocent jokes over dinner, before making a quick retreat to her bedroom with three old magazines tucked under her arm feeling cornered by the look in Villanelle’s eyes. 

XXX

When Villanelle dressed in the morning and slipped out of the front door to put snow chains on the car for her drive back into the town to pick up more food, Eve followed to watch her from her bedroom window with the last of the hot chocolate in her hands. 

After she had driven off into the fresh snow that had fallen hard overnight, the haziness left Eve and there was no way of comparing the landscape with a holiday destination. Snow angels and snowball fights had nothing on drifting on a lilo with salt sprayed curls and tan lines, especially when fresh snow had fallen hard that morning hiding the ground and the dirt. It engulfed her completely no matter which window she looked out of. It had clinically erased everything, turning the cabin into a small, surreal blip in the flatness of the white landscape. 

Eve’s hands stiffened on the dusty windowsill and the dampness on her sleeves from the wiped window made the fabric stick to her wrists uncomfortably. 

And she felt completely cut off.


	4. Whiskey Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a flashback

Villanelle had been talking and talking and talking, and Eve tried her best to focus and listen, but she just couldn't understand her. The sun shone bright in her eyes, the air was thick whenever she took a breath, and the cold sweat on her back was making her clothes stick to her uncomfortably. Her lungs burned from running and there was a pain behind her eyes. When she lifted her fingers to rub it, it only worsened. 

And when she tuned back into the constant garbling of noise; Villanelle was talking about going _away_. 

"Alaska?" Eve repeated dumbly. 

"Yes, wouldn't it be nice?" 

Eve wasn't sure wha_t nice _was. She staggered forwards and backwards, arms feeling like jelly and her fingers ached from ripping out the wooden boards covering the blocked entry into the ancient Roman ruins. The adrenaline rush had finally leaked out of her, leaving her numb. 

_Did I really just do that?_

Her feet stumbled again on the uneven stone, and when she caught her balance, Villanelle was looking at her as if she was a godforsaken puppy tumbling down some stairs. But then concern flashed across her face as she surged forwards and put her hands on Eve's shoulders, speaking earnestly, "I'll take care of everything. I'll take care of _you_." 

Once again, she wrapped her arm around Eve and helped her forwards, taking her weight as her legs threatened to give way. It was easy for Villanelle to hail a taxi, a slash of bright red at the side of the street, and after a quick stop on a busy street for two suitcases and some clothes to put in them while Eve sat silently in the backseat. Time seemed to speed up and they arrived at the airport to almost immediately pass through security and reach the boarding gate.

As much as she'd like to think she had some presence of mind as they walked down the narrow tunnel onto the plane, Eve wasn’t sure there was anything apart from a blurred sense of being pulled forwards and Villanelle’s dead-grip on her hand. When she tried to remember the sound of the boarding announcements, or even the prim air hostess showing her to her seat, it was all just fuzz. In her memory, she could see her bright red lips moving, dark eyebrows arching wildly, but there was no sound. 

When she thinks about it hard, Eve slowly does recall nodding shakily and letting Villanelle push her towards the window seat so that she could slide in beside her. The side of her leg pressed up against her own, and she felt weighted down to the point where her ribs felt like iron. 

"You're tired, Eve, you’ve had a long day." Villanelle ran a soft hand down her arm. 

Eve remembered exactly what she had thought, _It's shock, I'm in shock. _

Villanelle leaned over to clip the safety belt for Eve and blagged an extra pillow from a flight attendant to tuck behind her head. After then, time felt like it sped up again as the plane whirred slowly down the runaway and the attendants made their final checks and showed everyone the different exits and emergency lights, like synchronised swimmers dotted along the aisles. 

Eve remembered her stomach lurching when the plane’s engines revved loudly. She had slouched down into her seat, feeling a tremor run across her body, and Villanelle, attentive as ever, snuggled close and said something about the air-conditioning and keeping her warm. 

The flight felt brief because she had slept through it, letting the exhaustion drag her down to a simple blackness that swallowed her whole. When she did wake, it held her tightly and her limbs were still weighed down despite being thousands of feet up in the air. When she glanced around, it was clear to see that the flight was packed with people. Some of them were still awake, watching films through the night of tapping away on laptops and tablets. But she had needed the bathroom and when she reached to unclasp her seatbelt, she saw red crammed in the fine lines around her nail beds. Her alarm grew slowly and steadily, like a kettle reaching boiling point as she picked at the bit on her thumb. When it flaked off and landed on her trousers, her heart ran into double time. It thumped furiously over the low-level hum of the plane's engines underneath her. 

Eve remembered how she had stiffened in her seat, legs braced against a fall that wasn't going to happen. Breathing hard, she looked down at her hands and saw the red blood dried under all her fingers, and small splatters on her sleeves. In her fresh panic, she had rubbed a hand over her face, realising that if she was covered in bloodstains, she probably wouldn't have made it onto the flight, that she would have been pulled over by security at the airport and not been allowed to board. 

Beside her, Villanelle still slept, and Eve scrambled over her quickly to get to the bathroom, staggering down the aisle and pressing up against the side of a seat as a flight attendant pushed the drinks trolley. Thankfully one of the bathrooms was empty and she dived in, locking the door behind her. 

Her own reflection stared back at her in the dimmed light, blank and looking so lost. She breathed shakily, and then she lunged for the soap and water, pumping it out over and over while scrubbing at her hands and digging into the creases around her nails to get the dried blood out. It wasn't enough. Fresh from her axe wounds, the liquid had gotten right underneath and dried there until it felt like it had fused to her skin. 

She wanted bleach and a nail brush. 

She wanted her own bath and then her own bed. 

Her heart stopped when there was a knock on the bathroom door. 

“It’s me, let me in.” 

Villanelle knocked twice more before ramming it open, taking up the space in the small box and pushed Eve back until her hip was pressed against the counter and her elbow was mashed against the tap. 

In her hand was a plastic cup three-quarters full of amber liquid. "It's whiskey, for the shock. Drink it Eve, it'll help."

Her face was still so concerned and earnest, and Eve had felt so tired, so very tired and strung out, and she wanted to just not _think_. 

So she had grabbed the glass with a shaky hand and drank it down in three large gulps. It burned in her chest and the fiery taste barely reached out to knock against the cold that had taken over her. When she checked her hands again, she couldn't see the red anymore with her now-watering eyes. 

After that, the plane hit turbulence, and the motion had her thoughts swimming again. They chased each other and then sparked out, so she leaned against Villanelle because there was nowhere else to move. Her fingers felt icy, and her vision was blurred.

"Okay, okay." Villanelle said softly as she sunk a hand into Eve's hair, brushing the curls gently in what felt like a comforting manner. "Let's get you back to your seat."

The rest of the flight was a haze. 

The transfer to a small plane was even hazier. 

When they arrived at their destination, they were truly in the middle of nowhere. And it was cold. Eve remembered walking down the steps onto the tarmac, and then walking through the airport. She let Villanelle guide her along through the small hanger past the support staff milling around in the late morning. 

Then her memories seemed to coalesce a little easier. 

There was green, speckled with white. Eve had sat in the passenger seat of a car and watched dense forests of trees whizz by. She dozed on and off, the snow flurries had fallen heavier at first, obscuring everything with only a cheesy 80s radio station, Villanelle's humming and the squeak of the wipers were the only sounds in her shrunken world. 

When she woke again, she was still feeling wrung out, and shakily wound down the window. The snow had petered out to a fine mist that cleared with the clouds. The cold felt refreshing as it rushed through her mouth and into her lungs. They had driven alongside railway tracks and it led them into a small town where Villanelle pulled over for a few quick minutes to stop in a small grocery store and returned with two brown bags full of supplies. Time stalled and then picked up again with another long drive to a small turning off where there was a snow-covered dirt track that led to a cabin surrounded by tall pines. 

Eve got out of the car, ignoring the aching feeling in her legs and back, to walk through the melting snow to the cabin’s porch. There, she turned back to watch Villanelle scoop up the two bags and stride past to open the door. 

"Here we are, Eve." Villanelle had given a wink and let her in. "Home sweet home." 

The jetlag kicked in then, and she sunk into the sofa after Villanelle dragged out some blankets from a cupboard somewhere. A deep, and thankfully dreamless, sleep claimed her. The cabin had seemed like heaven to her, warm with a makeshift bed and a fire. 

When she woke sometime in the afternoon, Villanelle was sitting opposite, watching her. It was unnerving. So she had turned over and pretended to go back to sleep. 

It had given her a little time to think. 

The air grew thick and heavy, and her eyes were drooping again. The cloying feeling of wanting to disappear into another dreamless sleep began to take hold once more. It offered her the chance to forget what she had done. But instead of succumbing to it, Eve made herself slide her legs off the bed and sit up. 

Then she walked straight past Villanelle on shaky feet and went straight for the door with a simple, "Don't follow me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter gave me the most hassle, but it's done!  
nearly halfway now!!


	5. Worst. Girlfriend. Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve tries to wrestle back some control...

“No, I don’t want another snowball fight. It’s too cold outside.” Eve says, hugging her woollen cardigan closer to herself. She had spent the morning lying on the sofa looking out of the small windows by the door and not moving for so long had made her feet and hands cold. 

“Actually I’m going to stay in my room and read that old magazine.” 

“What, from years ago?” 

“Yeah, I think it’s hilarious.” She took the stairs, two at a time, and disappeared into her bedroom.

It wasn’t what Villanelle expected, and she knew it. That was why she kept quiet, listening for the creak of the wooden floorboards on the stairs. But she was adamant not to go out, to not to be pushed or prodded along into everything the woman wanted. 

"You're breaking my heart, Eve. I thought we had fun yesterday." Villanelle calls up the stairs, but she doesn’t follow.

Eve counts herself lucky for it. 

She climbs into the bed and is left to read her shitty magazine for the whole morning from under the covers. It isn’t ideal, not when it would have been classed as hot gossip twenty years ago. Each story is more ludicrous than the one before, and although she snorts under her breath, she finds it hard to huff out a laugh by the time she reaches the middle pages. 

Not even when she thinks of herself and her explanations in the gaudy font, “_I murdered a man with an AXE, and then ran off to Alaska!” _

The hours tick over. Eve reads it from cover to cover until the words blur, until she wasn’t reading at all. Left with her own thoughts, the guilt creeps in again until it is suffocating. She picks and picks at the bobbles on the cardigan until there’s fluff everywhere. By the time she comes back to herself, she’s buried deep under the blankets, with the pillows over her face in an effort to keep the rest of the world out. 

And then the doubt sets in again. 

It’s a gut-churning mix, feeling like she was always three moves behind everyone playing the game. All her books, all that time sitting behind a desk with nothing much more than her own wits, some string, and a couple of databases...it was nothing compared to being on the other side of it. Carole, Konstantin, Villanelle. They had more experience in that real slice of life. They had the guts and the nerve to pull through, but all she could do was put the pieces together and follow the breadcrumbs. 

Eve kicks at the covers until she can breathe again, throwing the pillows onto the floor with a dull thump. 

_I can’t see the wood from the trees._

_There’s nothing to do- but there has to be something. _

XXX

Just after midday, Eve hurtles down the stairs and announces, “You rest up, and I’ll sort lunch now. Come back in like...twenty minutes.” 

“You want to cook?” Villanelle’s eyes widen as she comes to stand at the foot of the staircase, with a hint of real surprise. “For me?”

From over the banister, Eve nods back magnanimously, “Yeah. Why not? You should have a chance to relax.” 

“Is it going to be lasagne? I bought mince and carrots and -” 

“It’ll be a surprise.” 

“Oh, nice.” 

She ushers Villanelle upstairs to get out from underfoot with her relentless questioning. Her natural curiosity was unquashable, and it makes Eve laugh several times as she lightly shoves her away with a wooden spoon in hand, keen to get cracking. Then she returns to the kitchen and plants her hands on her hips, thinking on her next steps. 

When she calls up Villanelle half an hour later, there are two plates of cheese toasties on the dining table and a complete mess behind her. There is melted cheese stuck to the frying pan, burnt crusts still smoking from where she’d tossed them into the sink, and a swipe of mayonnaise over the kitchen counter that drips into the cutlery drawer. With a look of horror, Villanelle circles around to see that burnt cheese had even slopped over onto the counter and _that _was what was the acrid smell filling the small space. 

“This is one of my favourite meals. I’m so pleased to have made it for you!” Eve tells her as she lights the two candles. 

Eve sits down and pushes forward one of the wine glasses. Both were topped up high, and the red liquid swirls around, almost touching the rim. As she goes to lift it, she accidentally reveals a burn mark on the tablecloth. Villanelle’s lips purse, and her eyes flick back to the glasses. 

“Well, we’re on holiday. May as well, right?” 

“Yeah.” Villanelle gives her a tight smile, takes a large gulp, and then sits down opposite her to eat the crisped toastie, watching the cheese pull as she separated it. “Impressive. This must have been all the cheese.” 

“Almost.” Eve gives a wink while pouring out a second glass of wine for herself. In the process, she finishes off the bottle, leaving Villanelle’s glass empty for the rest of the meal. 

They eat quickly and Villanelle is the first to rise. She drops her plate into the sink with a soft clatter before turning back to ask, “Are you always like this.... on holiday?” 

“Well, Niko was better at tidying up. I was the one working long hours at the office. But, you’ve tried my speciality now!” 

“You can’t cook, can you?” 

Eve laughs loudly, seeing the little frown puckering her brows sink in a little deeper. “Yes I can! But if you asked me if I can cook _well_...then I’d have to lie.” 

Villanelle turns away, and doesn’t mention anything more on the topic. Eve copies her by picking up her empty plate but leaves it on the side, feeling Villanelle’s gaze burning a hole in the back of her head. 

_There it is, _she tells herself as she half-heartedly swipes at the mayonnaise and wipes her hands on the dishcloth before chucking it back on the counter. 

She waits, not wanting to break the silence between them, and again, Villanelle reaches across the divide. “Okay, so how about we go outside, for a walk in the snow. There’s a lake about half an hour away. It’s supposed to be really pretty. I overheard some old lady talking about it in town yesterday-” 

“Nah, let’s do something else.” She shakes her head and picks up her almost empty wine glass. “Let’s watch a movie. But it’s my choice this time, right?” 

Villanelle slinks over to the sofa and nestles herself into the cushions. She looks like a model, legs draped over the side, ready to sling them sideways and give her room to sit beside her. “Which golden oldie do you want to see?” 

“Oh no, not another romcom. I want to watch...this one.” Eve snorts and leans over the battered VHS cases and DVD cases on display. 

Again, she could feel Villanelle’s gaze burning into her, but that unapologetic coldness in her chest numbed her out as she realised, _there’s small victories here._

“What’s _City Heat_?” 

“You’ll love it. I promise.” Eve says as she slots the VHS in and settles down on the sofa next to her.

It’s a loud film, and it had annoyed the crap out of Eve the first time she watched it, but it meant she knew when to laugh along with the bad plot and awful dialogue, and beside her Villanelle tries to keep up. 

But she laughs in the wrong places, not catching all the jokes, until she can’t be bothered with the pretence anymore. Eve feels her sink into the sofa, slipping into a boredom that lasts until the end of the film. It was clear she was feeling out of step, having found herself on the wrong side of the looking glass, for once. 

By the time the end credits rolled, her mood had well and truly fouled. 

Eve sees out the corner of her eye as she turns her face, lips in a pout. “I want-” 

“No, I want to read my magazine now. There was a bit I hadn’t finished.”

It was like watching alcohol being thrown onto a fire, a short moment where the flames dampened under the liquid, and Eve held her breath, waiting for the whole fire to blow outwards and cause absolute calamity. 

“_You_ want? You watched your stupid movie, which wasn’t even funny! What’s wrong with you, Eve? Why are you being like this? I thought you wanted to come away with me, but you don’t want to do anything now apart from read your magazine, which is like ten years old!”

Eve blinked, unsure of how to breathe again as Villanelle’s face moved from mere inches away from her face to feet away. And then she was gone. She had got to her feet quicker than Eve could register, and her hands were balled up into fists. 

“So, go on. Read it. No wonder Niko was cheating on you. You’re the worst girlfriend ever!” 

XXX

Eve sat there looking up at the ceiling, tracking the creaks of the floorboards as Villanelle crossed the narrow hallway, and then slammed the master bedroom door shut. The wooden beams groaned in protest, and maybe the whole cabin shuddered. 

Or perhaps that was just her. 

There was a little niggling feeling in the back of her head that she couldn’t get rid of.

It was the idea that maybe she had pushed it too far. 

Because falling out of Villanelle’s favour wasn’t a good thing. Eventually, she got to her feet and wandered back to the kitchen with the intention of doing the washing up, loudly. 

But the fruit bowl caught her eye, and the apology wrote itself. 

Eve leaves the bright yellow washing up gloves by the sink and climbs up the stairs. The master bedroom door was open, but the bathroom door opposite was locked when she tried it. When she presses her ear to the door, she hears the boiler firing up. It took a little while for the heating to kick in, and Eve knew she’d be sitting there, waiting, stewing.

“Hey, Villanelle?” 

There was no reply, only the sound of water running into the tub. 

“I’m sorry. I’ve brought you something.” 

She leaves the small, shiny red apple outside the door and retreats, knowing it wouldn't be long until the bathroom door reopened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> halfway there!
> 
> i looked up bad action films...and apparently 'city heat' is one of them.
> 
> turns out this chapter gave me more hassle, and the next is a bit of a bump but it's half drafted.  
my hope is that i'll finish either by the weekend, or just shortly after because the final three just need final read throughs.  
hope you're enjoying this slippery slope ;)


	6. Don't Think Like Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve finds her answers, and gains a question

She had pulled long nights at the office before, or worked until the crack of dawn in her home study with her stacks of books, laptop whirring away. Having a big mug of coffee and a good, flaky croissant made the harder problems a little less impossible. But under three sweaters, two blankets, and seriously considering putting on her hat as well, Eve wasn’t really feeling it. If it were any colder, she thought she might be able to see her own breath. 

In an effort to stay awake, she sat on the side of her bed, and had yanked her socks off to keep her feet cold. Outside, it was deathly quiet and the thin slice of moonlight escaping the clouds had left a blue-ish sheen on the unbroken snow. An innumerable number of stars twinkled small and bright in a way that brought tears to her eyes, but it could have also been the bottle of wine she had polished off with her pasta. 

Preferring not to swipe wine-tears from her face, she moved away from the window and twisted the blankets with her. The movement made her shiver, and she lifted her feet up from the bare floorboards and crossed them underneath her. Then tipping backwards onto the bed, she began to search the depths of her knowledge in order to unravel the puzzle she had found herself in. 

It didn’t take long for those thoughts to drift to Villanelle, and how she had been buoyed up by an air of satisfaction since they had arrived. Which then makes her wonder how long Villanelle had felt shaken after her first kill. 

If she ever had been. 

Eve tries to inch closer from every angle to imagine Villanelle reacting differently, as Oksana Astankova, young and behind bars, or later.

It was hard to imagine anything other than the shark-like grin and the adrenaline high that keeps her moving. With that mirror held up, Eve’s thoughts circle back uncomfortably and unwillingly to herself, and she pulled the blankets closer as another shiver slipped down her spine despite the sweaters. 

_ Have I been shaken enough? _

The snow-covered world away from her own had brought her relief. That, she could admit to herself easily enough. It wasn’t a holiday. She could never convince herself of that, but the distance was welcomed as the bottom of her world was replaced. She’d gone from blood-stained ground to cobblestones to white snow, where she could see where she had come from only until the next snowfall, and with no clear path to go on. 

Her doubts bubble lazily back to the surface. 

_ Was it too quick? Am I really, okay with this? _

Eve freezes when she hears a creak on the floorboards outside of her room and holds her breath. But it was a solitary floorboard without any further footsteps which meant that Villanelle still hadn’t finished sulking from lunchtime. After spending the afternoon alone, she had headed upstairs to her room and left half a pot of spaghetti on the stove for Villanelle in case she changed her mind. 

_ That  _ was when the thought had caught her, halfway up the stairs, and it had turned into a long night as she tried to convince herself it had been her shock that had led her to Alaska. That it had all been a result of killing Raymond, which had taken its toll on her from the second she had seen his body falling to the floor. The heavy, lifeless thump, and the blood-

The way it had stunned her. 

And the feeling of the axe in her hands; the smooth handle slipping a little under her clammy palms, her aching wrists. 

And the sour fear that had followed her, all the way to the centre of this snow-covered desert without a real touchstone. Her strings had been cut loose in a way they had never been before because she hadn’t felt this way since she saw Bill fall in the nightclub. 

By the early hours of the morning, Eve had reached the farthest corners of her sanity and dipped her desperate fingers into it, remembering how she had felt after she had stabbed Villanelle. It didn’t match how her shock in Rome had dazed her so badly. 

She tried to hold up the two mismatched sides of the puzzle, looking for the matching edges. 

But it had been a sickly feeling that had clung to her for days, not like Raymond’s which had faded into a fuzzy sort of haze. With Villanelle’s blood on her hands in Paris, it had felt like being struck by lightning. After Rome, she couldn’t even remember the flights to Alaska, only Villanelle clipping her into the seat, drinking whiskey handed to her, and then being helped out of the airport and into the car. 

It seemed to Eve that the maze was around her, rather than in her own hands. 

XXX

“Let’s go to the lake. It says the storm isn’t going to reach us until this evening, maybe even in the night.” Without waiting for an answer, Villanelle waves her mobile triumphantly in the air, and then dashes upstairs, apparently having forgiven Eve’s antics and forgotten her own bad mood.

In turn, Eve reaches for her coat and boots, unwilling to protest because having a change of scenery sounded like a good plan. And the company wasn’t to be sniffed at. She was fed up of sitting on the sofa or at the dining table, of lying in her bed and tracing the whorls on the headboard with her fingers as she had done for hours. 

Because there wasn’t much to look at inside the cabin. Downstairs was open plan and minimalistic, while upstairs had two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a laundry cupboard. The symmetry of the corridor had begun to irk at her, especially when she had accidentally opened the wrong bedroom door and stepped in while Villanelle was in the bath. 

Her room was similar, albeit a little neater, and there was a more deliberate elegance to how the covers had been thrown back on her bed. It was only when Eve opened the wardrobe and saw the small, iron safe tucked on the bottom shelf that she realised she was in the wrong room. 

The drive didn't take long, which was another plus to Eve’s morning. The roads twist between towering trees standing sentinel in the middle of the wilderness. The lake was larger than she expected, iced over but oval shaped with a light dusting of snow over the top that had been swept into curving lines by the wind. And Villanelle was right, the sky was still a pale blue unmarred by storm clouds despite the strong wind that threw invisible snow against her face, minute ice slivers looking to chip away at her. 

Eve stood by shore and looked out at the frozen lake, feeling the wild notion daring her to step out and see if it would take her weight. Or if she’d be judged and found wanting, to then plummet to the depths where she belonged. 

“Can you skate? I can. I can even do twirls.” Villanelle came up to lean against her, looping their arms together. 

Her face pulls close, flushed cheeks again, and Eve is reminded of their snowball fight and the glee she had felt then. 

“No, I can’t. I’m more like a drunken giraffe.”

It was an honest reply. Once Niko had bought them tickets to Somerset House, and they had spent all but five minutes on the ice and the rest sipping steaming hot chocolate laced with cream. She is lost to the memory for a second, and when she comes back to herself, there’s a gleam in Villanelle’s eyes again. 

_ That  _ had returned in the morning, after she had accepted Eve’s apple which had disappeared sometime in the night. 

It felt like Villanelle was on the backfoot since she had acted up. She was treading softly and speaking sweetly, charm personified. But when she continued to press close once more, her hands reaching for Eve more now than they had in the days before, the set of her mouth was more determined than ever. 

Earlier that morning, as Eve looked at her from across the breakfast table, she had caught her in a rare moment of introspection. Villanelle had been somewhere else completely; not in the cabin, not in the moment. Then Eve’s spoon accidentally clinked against the side of her bowl and she returned, looking jarred at the sound of the noise. 

Eve feels it all waver again by the lakeside when she asks, “Why am I here?”

Belatedly, Villanelle gives her a soft smile, barely paying attention to their surroundings, "Because you wanted to get away. Besides, you deserve time to rest. And yeah, Raymond was a  _ mess _ , but I'm so proud of you!"

“You’re proud of me?” She feels her cheeks turn hot from the praise. 

“I am. You just needed a little bit of help along the way, but you did it, Eve.” 

Hearing it for herself, it takes her breath away and the doubt comes rushing back like a tsunami obliterating whatever small scraps she had flung together to try and make things make sense.

“Anyway, I’m going to have to run into town this afternoon. I ordered more clothes, some nice candles. And some macaroons from Paris that have taken ages to get here.” 

“That sounds...lovely.” Eve lets out a laugh, and it gets a little lodged in her throat before it’s out of her mouth. “I can’t believe you can get macaroons here!” 

“Anything’s possible.” Villanelle quips, and then her nose scrunches up with distaste. “Urgh, more snow. I’ll drive you home first.” 

She gets pulled along back to the car. While Villanelle unlocks the car and sits inside, she ends up standing there, resting her chin on the edge of the door frame for a few moments longer. Eve looks out at the wide expanse and finds that it is never ending. 

Then the car horn blares, short and loud, and she takes her seat with warm, stale air blowing on her face as the locks click shut and Villanelle reverses away from the frozen lake. 

XXX

As soon as the door shut and Villanelle had driven off, Eve set to work. She combed through the cupboards in the kitchen again, and checked underneath the sofas and behind the shelves stacked high with VHS cases. Certain that she had looked everywhere she could downstairs, she headed upstairs.

Her own bedroom was sparse, with only her new clothes in the wardrobe and nothing else to see there apart from a thick layer of dust under the bed and grime in the windowsill corners. The laundry cupboard was equally as dull, just some towels and bedsheets, and another pile of magazines stacked on top of the hot water tank. 

She moved onto the bathroom, taking care to pick along the edges of the bath tiles. Eve tested the sealant on the wooden panel underneath the bath too, and found it was untouched. Even the cupboard held no secrets beyond some makeup supplies and shampoo. It was frustrating, but it meant there was only one place left. 

When she hesitates outside Villanelle’s bedroom, it’s more out of the uncertainty of being caught, rather than what she might find. After taking in a deep breath, she heads in while telling herself,  _ look properly, look everywhere.  _

It was easier to work methodically, taking one side of the room first. She drifts leftwards and kneels by the bedside cabinet to take out the drawers one by one. There was nothing important in either of them. And nothing inside the shell of the cabinet either. She quickly slots the drawers back into place and moves to lie down and check under the bed, finding nothing but a thick layer of lint and grime there too. 

The windowsill was equally bare, and there was only one other place in the room which could have housed a secret, the wardrobe. Taking another deep breath, she lays her hands on the handles and pulls them open. A new clothes smell wafts out, like plastic and cardboard, and she rolls back on her feet while her hands reach up to push the hangers apart. 

She checks all the pockets and linings, looking for a tell-tale bump that she would have to rip apart with her fingers to reveal, but again, there was nothing. She sticks her foot in to push aside a spare pillow and finds the safe she had seen before when she had accidently walked in. 

_ Oh yeah, how am I supposed to get into that? _

Kneeling down, she twisted the dial but as expected, no luck. 

“Come on, think!” Eve mutters to herself, and then slowly pulls the whole safe forwards. It takes a while until she could shift it enough to look at the back, but there, she finds the six-digit combination scratched into the metal. 

She wipes her palms on her jeans twice before twiddling the dial back and forwards. It clicks, as expected, and then opens. Nestled safely inside is a wodge of cash and a packet of pills, which when Eve claws opens, she finds that three out of five blisters are broken. There was no information leaflet inside, nor the label on front which had been picked off, but it’s enough for her to start filling in the missing pieces. 

The realisation sinks in slowly that Villanelle had whisked her away more efficiently than she thought, and Eve sits there until her ankles ache and then her panic rises again until she’s breathing heavily, “Fuck. Fuck.  _ Fuck! _ ” 

Thoroughly flustered, Eve reels. And then her search inside the wardrobe becomes frenzied.  _ Think like her, don’t think like yourself… _

Her hands dip back into the hangers, and she pulls out a slinky black dress dotted with sequins, only to replace it and pull out a new, unworn jacket. She throws it out, takes two steps out of the room to catch a look at herself in the bathroom mirror. The silver fur around the collar and cuffs is thick, and immediately she begins to sweat, but she feels different enough once she kicks off her thick boots and forces her cold feet into a pair of velvet thigh-highs.

_ Now think, like Villanelle. There’s more here, there has to be more.  _ . 

With her chin tucked deep into the fur, she lies stomach down on the floorboards and re-evaluates the room. From her new viewpoint, she could see under the bed again. It also meant she could see a floorboard which didn’t lie as flat as its neighbours. 

She wiggles forward to it to try and pry it open. When it doesn’t give way, she repurposes one of Villanelle’s heels as a crowbar to lift it up. Underneath, she finds a stash of fake passports, all of them with a new alias for Villanelle to use. 

_ There it is. _

And just like that, all the pieces slotted into place. 

She levers herself back up to her feet and wrestles off the shoes and fur jacket, putting them back in the wardrobe as she found them, along with the money and pills inside the safe, and the passports under the floorboard. 

Then she staggers across the bedroom to the window and flings it open to feel the chill on her face. “Fuck.” 

With her face sticking out of the window, she could see the heavy snow clouds building on the horizon, and remembered the forecast. Villanelle was only going to be gone for a couple of hours to pick up more supplies, then the storm would be here, and she would be stuck indoors again. 

_ Oh, outside. There’s one place I missed.  _

She hurries downstairs and inside an unlocked cupboard on the front porch, Eve finds a toolbox. It’s full of mostly useless things like a jammed tape measure and rusty nails. As she digs in further and pushes them aside, the rust leaves marks on her skin. Underneath a box of spare fuses, her nails tap against something more useful than old metal held together by oxidation.

Eve pulls out the stanley knife. It’s weighty in her hand, but compact. She thumbs at the slider, and the knife is exposed. When she presses her finger against the blade, it’s still sharp and leaves a thin red scratch on her finger. 

It’s an ordinary thing, a normal tool. 

But as she replaces the toolbox inside the cupboard and tucks the knife behind her waistband at the small of her back and covers it with her lumpy jumper, Eve finds it’s not a question of finding something she can use, if she needs to. 

Besides, she had done it before, and now she knew how much it had changed her. Killing Raymond brought her to a new situation where again, she was forced to do something. 

It was shaping up to be a question of how far she would go? 

She heads straight back to the kitchen, cracks open a bottle of wine, and downs it straight from the bottle as Dutch courage. Then she stares blankly at the front door when she doesn’t feel the warmth reach her stomach. 


	7. Seeing Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the downhill slide...

“I wanted to talk.” 

Eve planted her feet behind the sofa, having had enough wine to make her tongue loose. She had been quiet all the way through dinner, and even then there hadn’t been enough time to really think. Trapped in a haze of her own thoughts, there was nothing else to do but breathe out slowly and allow her courage to flare up again as she placed the wine glass on the side table. 

“Or we could not.” Villanelle leaned closer with her wine stained lips, “We could do something else. I know what you really want to do.” 

“Let’s talk.” 

“You don’t have to be scared. Trust me.” Villanelle smiled back softly, the apples of her cheeks flushed delicately, and it reminded Eve so much of those first few moments after seeing her in the hospital bathroom, of trying to recall her face for days after. 

The memory of it is burnt into her now, and it leaves her feeling sickeningly unsure. Her world had shrunk down until it was only the two of them, for miles and miles. Eve tries to shake off the feeling and ducks out of the way as Villanelle reaches towards her. 

Instead, bitter words fall from her tongue as she asked, “What did you mean when you said you _helped _me. In Rome.” 

She gets an airy laugh in return with Villanelle wavering on the spot, as if she were considering playing along. “What?” Then she shook her head and tipped her face down. 

When Villanelle looked up again with her teeth sunk in her bottom lip, it was as if she was considering spilling a secret. But it was still a game, teasing out information here, playing along to get her to cooperate and come a little closer. 

With her stomach sinking again, Eve pushed on. “Yeah, you said it before. You said that I needed a bit of help.” 

Her smile stretched out and she slid closer until she was standing in front of Eve, savouring the hold on the silence between them, before reaching her free hand up to brush a curly strand of hair out of Eve’s face. 

“What did you mean by that?” Eve muttered as she leant into the touch, shakier than before, raising her own hand. 

The warm air hits Villanelle’s neck first. Then Eve’s fingers follow, lightly brushing against her collarbones, trying to press out the answers from her skin. She knew that Villanelle was a practical creature, she liked praise, she liked attention and compliments, but there was a value to things that couldn’t be bought so easily, and Eve was one of them.

“I’m not quite sure what you mean? It wasn’t much help, really. It was more like a nudge.” Villanelle slipped her hand over Eve’s, soft fingers brushing against her skin which sent a shiver down her spine. Her voice was drenched in self-satisfaction, “A guiding hand.” 

She drew Eve’s hand closer, and ran it across her chest, over her stomach and then down to her waist, cupping it around her and holding it in place. “What’s a better way to clear a building? It isn’t to fake a fire alarm, come on, you just set a fire and watch them run out.”

When Villanelle leaned forwards to press her lips against Eve’s, it wasn’t anything like she had imagined. When her lips didn’t part, she nipped at her bottom lip and drew back. “You came to help me, and I love that about you.”

Then she pressed Eve against the back of the sofa, “I don’t understand why you’re not happy. Eve, we’ve been waiting for this.” 

The thrill in her eyes sparks brighter than ever, and Eve stared as Villanelle dipped her head to press soft and hard kisses against her neck and down her throat. She felt another shiver zip down her spine and stared at the cabin windows across the other side of the living room, realising just how far she had been led down this path. 

“I don’t-” 

“What’s the saying…” Villanelle paused in between kisses and lifted her head, tipping it back and shutting her eyes as she thought. “_Qui n’avance pas, recule._”

“I don’t know what that means.” 

The resultant smile she got was all teeth, and then Villanelle leaned forwards again to kiss her again, and again as she spoke, each press leaving her colder and colder. “Sink or swim. You don’t believe it. But you did, and I knew I could believe in you. Forget Konstantin, and Carolyn, they weren’t doing what was best for you or for me.” 

Eve stood, unmoving, as if she had been encased in her own cold horror of how she had been manipulated, right into picking up the axe in the first place and holding it over Raymond, but every other step along the way. 

_She could have saved herself. _

Villanelle was proficient enough; she could have stopped him. But she had watched Eve fumble, with mixed intentions, dangling their connection to her, for not wanting Villanelle to have her windpipe crushed under the hands of a man who hated her. 

“It was clever, wasn’t it? I can think of one way you can thank me.” Villanelle whispered into her ear, “What we did on the phone, but together. You liked that then too.”

“You could have saved yourself. I didn’t have to kill him. But you wanted me too.” 

“Duh, he was annoying. You thought it too. Come on, let’s watch a movie. And not watch the movie.” 

“No.” 

“No?” 

“I don’t want to.” Eve pulled away, stepping closer to the door, and then twisting her head to look out of the window. “I want to get out of here.” 

“Where do you want us to go?” Villanelle mirrored her movements, closing the distance and reaching out a hand to run it over her shoulder and down her arm. “There’s going to be a storm this evening. We’ll get stuck in the snow.” 

She shrugged her off again and stepped away, still talking to herself. “Not with you.” 

Affronted by being brushed off twice, Villanelle came to stand in front of her. “You’re not being _nice_, Eve.” 

“No, I’m not.”

She looked out of the window, to the white expanse outside. Although she couldn’t see it, she knew that the car was outside too. Her escape route. The only escape route out. 

Villanelle stepped closer again, reaching for her once more. “Stop saying no!” 

Eve’s head snapped back and she made eye contact. “No!” 

Villanelle’s eyes narrowed, and she rocked back on her heels, suddenly grasping Eve’s mood for the first time. It was like she was a shark, tasting the air, seeing the turn of the conversation and homing in to where Eve was coming from. 

And she didn’t like it. 

“You’re a hypocrite. And you’re lying to yourself.” 

She seemed to fill up the small living room with her growing anger. Clenching her fingers up into a fist at her sides, her fingers tucked themselves over each other, over the small gold ring on her little finger. 

It made Eve pause as she felt a stab of fear from bringing everything out into the open. But it was better than continuing in the unsteady world which Villanelle controlled. She could admit to herself that she hated being there, and it was becoming something stronger than her fear. “Am I? Or is that just when you’re not getting your own way? When I’m getting in your way.” 

Villanelle backed off, choosing to pace silently from the kitchen, in front of the door, and back again. When she turned back to face Eve, her face had crumpled, and her shoulders were sagging. The seductive curl in her lip had vanished too, and for all intents, she looked hurt and confused. 

Her bottom lip quivered, and after looking up, her eyes watered. "You led me on." 

It was an unexpected reaction, and adamant not to play the blame game, Eve shook her head. "No, you did that yourself.”

Villanelle took a step forward, confidence returning even as the tears in her eyes threatened to spill over. “You _killed _for _me_.” 

It took Eve by surprise and she felt the shock of it sink in again to leave her numb. But this time she didn’t try to push it away. It was the truth. She did kill Raymond, and she killed her for Villanelle. “Yeah, well you're the reason I'm a murderer...I _killed _someone, and it's your fault, and right now, I wish I had never met you!"

Villanelle rolled her head from side to side, eyes shut tight. There were no tears on her dry cheeks. Her brow was furrowed, and when she opened her eyes again, they were cold and hard. 

"I thought you were special." 

It sounded more like an accusation than a lament. 

They stood there in silence for too long. The clock on the kitchen wall ticked on. The air was frazzled between them and Eve frowned, sucking in a deep breath of air, trying to figure out how to phrase her request again. Eve watched as Villanelle’s clenched fists unfolded, and she seemed to calm down.

She tried once more, with the best explanation she figured she could give. "I thought you had changed. You seemed to want to. You were working _with _us, with me. But you didn’t, because you don't want to.”

Eve paused, feeling the truth bubble up on her tongue, unable to stop it. “It was your show, and you manipulated me. That’s why I want to go, just...give me the keys." 

It felt pathetic to ask, and even more unhelpfully, she could hear the echo of Konstantin’s warnings, hating that it had come to this. 

"Why would I want to?” Villanelle walked around her to stand in front of the door, blocking the way with clomping steps despite the way her arms hung free and loose by her sides. “So I can be like you? _Boring_! You like watching me. You're like me, because you wanted _more_, more than your boring life and your boring job and your boring husband." 

She jerked her head in a nod and stalked forwards as Eve sidestepped along the length of the sofa to keep her distance. “You followed me all over just to see what I’m like, what I do, because you like it a lot more than you think you do. You like it more than you _want _to."

“I didn’t want it to be like this.” 

“You’re lying. Again!” Villanelle snapped. "You wasted my time, Eve Polastri. You broke my heart." 

Then she blinked, as if she had been struck, "And you don't get to just walk out of here and go home. No way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Qui n’avance pas, recule = Who does not move forward, recedes


	8. Eve, Cornered

As she stepped forward, Eve backed away, feet taking her away from the door and back towards the kitchen with her boots squeaking on the false wood linoleum. Her eyes flickered back and forth from the soft swing in Villanelle’s loose arms to her clenched jaw. Although her movements were casual once more, it was the look in her eyes that had Eve wanting to make a mad dash for the door.

But she also knew that would make things worse. 

_I’ve been here before. _

Without thinking, her hands went behind her back to stop her from smacking into the lip of the counter. She jerked on the spot, sliding sideways a little before realising that she was still cornered. Another two or three steps backwards would have her pressed up between the sink and the cabinets with nowhere to go. As she heard the creak of the floorboards, felt the brush of her trouser hem and the cool wood against her fingers, she could also feel how her retreat could quickly turn into a dead end. 

Then, Villanelle smiled at her. 

It was a pinched, drawn smile, unsoftened by the expensive silk shirt she was wearing or the softer moments they had shared over the last few days. 

Her eyes flashed dangerously, and Eve knew she was feeling cocky; she enjoyed the terror she created. She _loved _having the upper hand; revelled in it. When it came to it, she would be able to stop Eve from leaving with her bare hands, and it would be an easy thing to do.

The gap between them grew smaller with another step. 

Eve’s heart stuttered, for a second, when she matched the smile in front of her, with the smile she saw all that time ago in the Berlin nightclub behind Bill sinking to the floor. It had haunted her sleeping and waking moments for a long, long time.

There was only time for one last plea, “Don’t do this.” 

Another flood of icy adrenaline shot through Eve’s veins and was accompanied by the fear of dying at the hands of a serial killer with a flair for the dramatic. Back in London, she had boxes full of crime scene photographs and analyses, and now there would be some more to add to the piles, but they’d be of her own. 

Villanelle’s smile had a tinge of sympathy to it. “But I really, _really_ want to.”

Irrationally, Eve tried to inch away sideways, but knocked her back against the table, trapping her palms behind her. Her fingers twitched against the knife tucked against the small of her back and she stiffened with the new contact. 

It made Villanelle pause in front of her, mere inches away, now attuned to every shift in her body. The tilt of her chin showed she was curious about the reason behind it, and she did not have to wait long for Eve to give her the answer. 

Slowly and carefully, with trembling breaths, Eve pulled out the knife from the waistband of her trousers. She held it out in front of her with her grip turning her knuckles white. But her hand was steady as Villanelle leaned closer, flirting with the new danger in its rusted form.

But Eve was lost to the weight of it trapped in her palm. She steadied herself, and finally felt the churning in her stomach disappear. 

Because she now knew the code to the safe, where the passports and the car keys were all kept, locked away when Villanelle wasn’t using them. 

There were barely inches between them, inches from her own escape, and inches from the feral smile that was now gracing her face. “Oh, you won’t do it Eve, you’re too nice.” 

“I will. Don’t push me.” 

Eve watched in horror as she began a game where whatever she chose to do was likely to be anticipated and blocked off now that she was on Villanelle’s home ground, so to speak. It happened in the blink of an eye. Villanelle feinted left, and then swerved to the opening on the right. She was playing with her food, like a wildcat and a mouse. 

And she couldn’t help herself with egging Eve on. There was another taunt, “You like me, Eve. You liked watching me work. You can’t hurt me.” 

“You were...something different.” Eve admitted grudging, eyes fixed on her, trying her best to watch for any more sudden lunges or moves but instead, Villanelle leaned in again, eyes wide and pupils blown out. 

“You’re _mine_. You wanted to be here, with me.” 

With that lie ringing in her ears, Eve’s determination clicked into place. When she spoke again, her voice was as steady as ever. “No, I didn’t. I know you drugged me on the plane.” 

At that revelation, Villanelle’s smile slipped off her face as she suddenly realised she was no longer in control. She only had the chance to twist her face in renewed anger before Eve lunged forwards, closing the inches between them and taking advantage of the surprise she had managed to spring. 

Once. 

A fumbling jab to her exposed side. 

Twice. 

It stuck in her stomach, and the feeling of muscle and organ gave way under the small, sharp blade. There’d be matching wounds now, one on either side.

Thrice. 

As she staggered back, Eve followed, gaining the ground she had momentarily lost, and sank the knife into Villanelle’s chest.

The wound immediately bloomed red across her cream shirt as Eve caught her balance, but Villanelle fell hard onto the floor, legs spread and hands pressing around the stomach wound. Soft gasps issued from her mouth, along with bloodied spittle, and she grunted with the effort of trying to stand, or sit, or even crawl. But it was too much to ask from the wounds, and her face was a mixture of anger and surprise.

As Eve bent down to wrench the knife out of her, she was close enough to see Villanelle’s emotions flickered across her face, like waves on the sea. For a split second, Eve thought she looked ecstatic, maybe from being taken by surprise. 

It made her pause. 

But it passed in a moment as Villanelle let out another groan that turned into a shriek as Eve pulled the knife free and tossed it across the room where it landed behind the sofa, an eternity away. 

She stood there and stared down at the consequence of her actions with her heart thumping away inside her chest. It was a heady feeling, less tremulous than Rome. Now her knees felt weak just from the adrenaline. 

“I’m leaving,” she repeated.

A curious warmth filled her stomach as Villanelle flopped on the kitchen floor, her gasps growing louder but without any words.

Eve backed away, one step at a time, shaken but still alive. 

Then she turned and ran up the stairs to Villanelle’s bedroom to open the safe again and claw up the floorboard, looking for her own passport. She took everything she needed, including the cash and the car keys, only stopping on her way back downstairs to fill a bag with whatever clothes she could lay her hands on. As her boots hit the stairs again, she paused and looked over the banister to see the kitchen floor and the pool of blood spreading across the lines in the linoleum. Villanelle lay there in the centre of it, fingers clawing at the floor under her, smearing the blood into thick streaks as she flailed. 

Eve grabbed her new gray coat off the stand and stooped to pick up an empty handbag. It was just like going through the motions, and it wasn’t until she walked out of the door, blinking as the cold air hit her face, that she breathed out and heard the ringing in her ears. 

She drove through the tree-lined dirt path and away from the cabin as a final sunset loomed over the horizon. The gathering storm clouds reached out their tendril wisps to blanket the sky, having grown plump over the course of the afternoon. As Eve swerved onto the main road and left the cabin far behind, she took a quick glance in the rear-view mirror and saw that the red and orange rays barely poked through. The darkening skies trailed her all the way to the airport.


	9. Killing Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'No one else would have been able to do it.'

Eve slammed her foot on the accelerator and let the snow-covered trees blur into green and white as she peeled back the distance between herself and civilisation. When she gripped the steering wheel, it wasn’t to keep her hands from shaking. It was to keep her grounded from the lightness that had seemed to split between every one of her atoms. Right from the moment she had shut the car door and started the ignition, the wave of relief washed over her. 

She felt accomplished. 

When she does look down, she can see that there was blood under her fingernails, tacky and not yet dried. But it would be easy to get off. 

She slipped her hands over the steering wheel so that she could bring her fingers together at the top, picking and scraping at the stickiness of it until she had brushed most of it off. 

The road markings whip away under the car, line after line after line.

She knew that she’d never feel safe if Villanelle was left alive. Three stabs with the knife was a surety. She wasn’t going to underestimate her, not after their history, not after knowing her entire past and the long, long list of destroyed lives, broken bodies, and the levels of showmanship and sheer obsession Villanelle could reach if she put her mind to something. Nor the lengths she would go to finish a job, whether that meant killing her handler, or for acting on her feelings of jealousy when being spurned by a lover. 

Eve felt safer with having blood on her hands, and relished it as she sped towards the local airport. 

She arrived just as the snowstorm picked up, parking up at the side of one of the outer buildings. Then she crouched by the front tire and stuck her hands into the thickening layer of snow and scrubbed at her hands again for good measure. 

The last specks of blood washed off, and she jammed her cold fingers under her armpits until they were warm again before getting back to her feet and buttoning her coat up to the neck. It didn’t change the fact that when she walked back into the world, it was with Villanelle’s bloodstains hidden on her shirt underneath. 

There was a quiet buzz of activity around but no queue at the main flight desk, so Eve marched up with a smile on her face and pulled out the folded clump of notes to buy herself a ticket onto the next flight out of the wilderness. 

“Thank you, and your passport ma’am.” 

“Here you go.” Eve passed it over and it was returned along with a freshly printed ticket.

“Great, you’re all booked on. They’re just fuelling up now, so if you take a seat, someone will let you know when they’re ready to board passengers. It’s only a small cargo plane, short hop to the big airport that’ll get you back across the pond, although you might be the only one for this run. It’s a good job you’re getting out now, an hour later and you’d be stuck here.” 

“The storm? Right, right.” Eve met her easy smile, “Funny how things work out.” 

She followed the woman’s gesture to the chairs behind her and took a seat on the cold plastic. Aside from her, there were only a handful of airport workers milling around. Eve waited there, still as a statue and as cold. The smile on her face had vanished, sucked inwards by a deep stillness that had draped itself over her.

On the other side of the drafty room, was a public payphone. A brief, fleeting thought crossed her, but Eve remained there, glued to the spot, until she was called to board the plane. 

She took a moment to check herself, fingers drifting to the collar of her coat and the flecks of blood sunken into her clothes that she’d have to carry with her, at least until she could find a quiet place to change, and her mind drifted away. 

XXX

_Villanelle lay there on the kitchen floor, bleeding out and gasping, but not dead. _

_Those words still hung on her lips between the blood-flecked spittle, “You’re mine now, Eve. You are. You’re mine.” _

_Her blood was pooling around her, turned her shirt sodden and spread out over the unvarnished wood. It sank into the grooves and the whorls, staining them burgundy. Just like the wine she had accidently sloshed out of her glass, a couple dinners ago. _

_If it were anyone else, Villanelle would have had something else to say about it, maybe how it was a waste of a new silk shirt now that the cream colour was almost gone. _

_But she wasn’t. _

_It was Eve standing over her, staring down and breathing deeply. She watched her as the seconds drifted into minutes while Villanelle flailed uselessly on the floor. It wasn’t like the first time around. She wasn’t panicking, or screaming, or struggling to breath. She wasn’t feeling anything. It was like a controlled stillness had descended on her and held her aloft, on her feet, with her arm outstretched, like she was looking at a photograph pinned to a wall in her office._

_And yet she still stood there until clarity had returned to her, finally, and she knew exactly what she was doing as her fingers brushed against the slider on the knife, pressing the small but sharp blade back in before chucking it as far across the room as she could throw. _

_Then Eve looked back and watched Villanelle’s face twist between the medley of emotions overcoming her, anger, surprise, elation, and then finally, fear. True fear. _

_She took some measure of pride in delivering those emotions to Villanelle. It was something she needed, something that she had been longing for. It had truly broken Villanelle out of her boredom, freed her. It gave her something she had never been able to achieve, not with Anna, or through her years of working for the Twelve, or her other pursuits. _

_No one else would have been able to do it. _

XXX

“Your flight’s boarding now ma’am. Have a safe trip.” 

Passport in hand, she nodded as she slung her handbag stuffed with mismatched clothes and a few bundles of cash over her shoulder, knowing that Eve Polastri, the woman who had once caught killers, was dead and gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist naming this chapter with that title.
> 
> And now I'm done! I've finished it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
